Watchman
by you-idjits
Summary: "She only sees him once every few months, and only glimpses. He doesn't know she's noticed him, that much is clear. She only glances over him, never making eye contact. There is something familiar about this man, like an echo." Coda to 6x21 Let It Bleed. Even if he can't be a part of her life, Dean still keeps tabs on Lisa. And she notices.


She sees him sometimes, standing on streetcorners. Usually watching her. Always alone.

At first, she doesn't notice him. He slips in and out of her peripheral vision, another passing stranger. But one day it occurs to her that he's not from around town. She never sees him at the supermarket or the drugstore. He just stands at the crossroads near her home and watches her.

Her first instinct is, of course, to call the police. An unfamiliar man watching her house? It sounds like a stalker to her. But there's something about this man, something she can't quite put her finger on. He doesn't watch her creepily, but protectively. Like he's making sure she's safe.

She only sees him once every few months, and only glimpses. He doesn't know she's noticed him, that much is clear. She only glances over him, never making eye contact. There is something familiar about this man, like an echo.

He looks about her age, with choppy brown hair and a firmly set jaw. Paired with the leather jacket and heavy boots, he's the kind of man she wouldn't want to encounter in a dark alley. But something stops her from calling the police.

Some days Lisa considers going to talk to this guy. Why does he keep checking up on her and Ben? What does he want? Does she know him? Maybe he was a one night stand in college, someone forgotten. Maybe he's an undercover cop, for some reason set to track Lisa. But Lisa's just a stay-at-home mother. She's never done anything or met anyone dangerous. Ben is just starting high school. What could a guy like this want with a family like hers?

Still, he hasn't approached her yet, and so she won't approach him. If he means business, she's taken a few self-defense classes. She can handle herself.

Plus, a few months ago, Lisa found a shotgun stashed in a closet in their house. She's not sure how it got there, but she'll use it if she has to. It's a nice safety precaution. That's just one of the mysteries she's been piecing together these past few months.

There's the car accident, for starters. Lisa doesn't remember a thing from the days before the accident, and strangely, neither does Ben. The doctors told them it's a side effect of being in such a serious accident, but Lisa's not so sure. Some of her other memories have faded too. She worries that the accident left her mind more damaged than the doctors told her, but they've assured her it should all be there. So why is she missing pieces of her life?

In her mind, she begins to dub the mystery man as her watchman. Stalker would be an equally accurate term, but watchman seems kinder. And this man has done nothing to make her afraid. She just decides to leave him alone, wait for him to leave her life as quickly as he appeared. But she does start carrying pepper spray, because one can never be too careful.

* * *

But, as it turns out, she never has to use the pepper spray, at least not on her watchman. One day, she's walking home from work. It's wintertime, so darkness falls earlier than usual. When she passes a dark alley, a group of men leap out at her.

Lisa immediately goes for the pepper spray in her purse and sprays the first guy in the eyes. But another grabs her wrist and wrenches the bottle out of her hand, kicking it away into the darkness. There are four of them, all much bigger than her, and they corner her into the alley.

Lisa takes a deep breath, opening her mouth to scream. Before she can, one of the men shoves her back against the wall, knocking the air out of her lungs. She kicks at them, slaps at the air, trying to get away, but there are four of them and one of her and she doesn't have a chance.

All she thinks of is Ben, about what he'll do if she doesn't come home tonight. Or worse, if she comes home in a body bag. It makes her fight harder, the thought of her son.

"Please," she begs the men, "I have a son." She feels hot tears stream down her face, a mixture of anger and fear.

One of the men grabs her by the wrists and pushes her up against the wall. She closes her eyes, unable to bear what will surely happen next. But then the weight on her hands lifts, suddenly, jerkily, and she hears one of the men cry out. She opens her eyes.

The next few moments blur before her eyes. Suddenly there's a fifth man, except he's not fighting her, he's fighting the men. He punches the man who grabbed her in the gut, once, twice. A swift jab to break the man's nose. The bad guy goes down, and then her hero is on to the next man.

It only takes a few moments for the guy to take down all of her assailants. Four against one, and he fights like it's child's play. He doesn't say a word. She can't see his face clearly in the dark, but the glint of fury in his eyes is clear.

Once all four men are incapacitated, the stranger turns to her. His chin is ducked to his chest, obscuring his face from her, and she wonders if he's been purposefully hiding his identity. "Are you okay?"

Through the tears and the hiccups, she chokes out that she is. "Thank you."

"It's what anybody would have done, ma'am." His voice is deep and rough.

No, it's not, she thinks. Most people in this city, at this time of night, would have kept on walking. He fought the men off with his bare hands. "You saved my life."

He looks up then to meet her eyes, and again she loses her breath.

It's her watchman.

This is the first time she's seen him up close, and he's even more handsome than she thought. Even in the dark, she can see long lashes, a splash of freckles, a chiseled jaw. He looks like a Greek hero.

He _is_ a hero, her hero.

But his features are twisted in indescribable pain, brow furrowed, jaw set firmly. His eyes are distant, like they're not quite meeting hers. He looks like he's trying very hard to control his emotions.

She knows now that his presence in her life is not sinister. She doesn't recognize him, but she knows he recognizes her. She can't explain the way he looks at her, but it makes her mouth go dry. Her stomach feels like a cavern, a black hole. The ground is pulled out from under her feet.

"Who are you?"

He coughs, ducks his head again. "Nobody. I'm nobody."

"Let me thank you, please. Let me buy you a beer."

"No, I can't." Then, quietly, as if he doesn't intend for her to hear: "Not this time."

That settles it. He knows her.

"Why… why can't I remember you?" she asks quietly.

He looks up at that, surprise and fear flashing across his features.

"Listen, I've seen you watching me. I'm not afraid of you. I just want to know why I don't recognize you, when you clearly recognize me. Who are you?"

He shakes his head, starts to pace away. "Believe me, you don't want to remember."

When he reaches the street, he crosses to a black classic car. Once he's gone, she realizes she recognizes the car.

There's a picture of it, on a bookshelf in her house. Ben is in the photo too, leaning against it. The picture has always mystified Lisa. She's assumed it's another missing memory from before the accident. But now she knows.

It's _his_ car. He's always been a part of her life, and for some inexplicable reason she can't remember it.

Lisa has so many questions. Next time he shows up, she decides, she'll approach him and demand answers.

But there isn't a next time. After that night, Lisa never sees her watchman again.

* * *

(That isn't, to say, that he never returns. Dean still keeps an eye on her, he just becomes a lot more discrete about it. He never _lets her_ see him again.)


End file.
